


The Sun will Rise

by friendsofthemusain24601



Series: Les Amis [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Character Death, M/M, Sad Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:27:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24639937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friendsofthemusain24601/pseuds/friendsofthemusain24601
Summary: What if Enjolras and Grantaire stood a fighting chance against the soldiers? Do you Permit It scene reimagined.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Series: Les Amis [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1074801
Comments: 3
Kudos: 13





	The Sun will Rise

They were surrounded, and resistance seemed futile. Still, revolutionary fervor pumping through their veins, blood running as red as a supernova there was little else to do but fight. And fight they did, from the minute Enjolras climbed back over the barricade declaring that they were the only barricade left. From that point on hope should have been dead. Should have, but not quite. He anticipated the end of their rebellion the minute he knew they were alone, betrayed by the people they swore would help build a new world. “I beg of you, my brothers and sisters.” the charismatic leader proclaimed, voice sonorous and true. His words rang out like a promise fulfilled, one way or another the battle would end. “If any of you have any regards for your own life, leave. Flee this place and live to see another day, I only pray that the new world we fight for will deliver its promise better than I.” He sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face in deepset exhaustion. Soot etched its way beneath his fingernails, as well as a thin coating of blood. Not his- the revolution had marred his porcelain skin, dirtied him down to his core. Not even a martyr such as he could live through this without earning his fair share of scars, both physical and emotional. 

No one left. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry when the people he had known since birth decided to stay by his side even in death. One by one they fell down, once brilliant youths now bloodied and beaten to death. Bossuet was killed; Feuilly was killed; Courfeyrac was killed; Combeferre, transfixed by three blows from a bayonet in the breast at the moment when he was lifting up a wounded soldier, had only time to cast a glance to heaven when he expired. Marius alone remained alive, yet so riddled with wounds was he that he too was struck down. Enjolras who had turned to run to the man he viewed as a younger brother was forced to flee the scene, french soldiers rushing him with seemingly endless weapons. He had mere moments to fly into the Musain, climbing the steps two as a time, leaping up and away. He didn’t dare hope he would live, nor did he wish to do so after watching his men fall. No, survival was not the aim, but rather to go down fighting and hopefully draw the men away from Marius who he prayed was still alive. If there was any justice in the world at all the young creature would live to tell the tale of his friends. As a mess of dark curls peeked its way over the top of the stairs Enjolras grinned- perhaps there was justice in this world after all. “Grantaire!” He rejoiced, “come quickly!” The drunkard made his way up to him, trembling hands catching the bayonet Enj threw at him with surprising grace. In another world perhaps they would have a better reunion. In another world Enjolras would apologize for their latest fight, for disregarding the brunette. In another world perhaps they would live happily together. But this was no such world. 

Without exchanging further words the two men stood back to back, circling one another as the national guard and militia overwhelmed them. There should have been too many of them, but by a stroke of unimaginable luck the duo were succeeding in taking down the enemy. Gunfire rained from all sides, destruction wreaked across the Musain. One such bullet soared through Enjolras’ thigh but he quickly returned the favor, killing the culprit. Man by man the militia fell, young soldiers swept up in a war that was not theirs. It appeared they were victorious, or very nearly. Grantaire’s eyes flashed dangerously, perhaps this was the most sober he had been in his life, struck so by the sheer magnitude of the situation they were in. A hand found its way to the cynic’s shoulder and without pause he rammed his bayonet through the owner’s soft flesh. Grantaire turned with a vicious grin, crooning with the promise of their victory when the worst possible outcome occurred. The ear piercing shriek was nothing compared to the feeling of bile rising within his throat. “No- no no no!” he screamed, eyes pinned in anguish at the look of horror spreading across Enjolras’ face. The hand on R’s shoulder fell to his stomach, trying and failing to hold his intestines in place. Grantaire howled in agony, “Oh god- what have I done?” the leader in red stumbled backwards, living up to his nickname as crimson practically fell from his torso. He too fell back, body thudding against the wall. 

“I think-” Enjolras winced, “I shall see our friends shortly.”

Tears welled up, head shaking to and fro. “No- I-I couldn’t have. I WOULDN’T have. I could never hurt you.” Grantaire cried, crouching beside his companion.   
Slowly Enjolras lifted his hand, thumb skimming back and forth across Grantaire’s cheek. He brushed away a few tears, doing nothing to lessen the endless supply bursting forth. “I am sorry for being so cruel to you.”

“Don’t,” his voice was hoarse, “christ Apollo, how can you apologize to me when I’ve killed you?” 

“It’s okay,” he cooed, surprisingly lucid even despite the debilitating pain. “Let me say this.” Grantaire shook his head again but Enjolras proceeded anyway. “I have been cold towards you, but I am not ignorant of your feelings. You must understand, I had a job to do, my own thoughts and desires- they could not be obeyed.” he tried to sit up which was a mistake, entrails creeping through his fingers. Grantaire reached out to steady his shoulders, sobbing uncontrollably. Still Enjolras pushed on. “The cause needed me more than you ever could. But make no mistake- I could have loved you.” 

No. No no no no no- this was not happening. Grantaire could scarcely see his love in front of him, wiping away his own tears roughly for better vantage. “I l-love you.” the skeptic cried, “I need you, you cannot leave me Ange.” Horror washed over his face as Enjolras removed his hand, guts spilling down his once white shirt. The blond weakly reached up, bloodied hand smearing across Grantaire’s face as he held it within his grasp. “I could have loved you.” he weakly repeated, attempting to lean forward perhaps to hold the man or to kiss him. No one would ever know his intention. Enjolras stopped, halfway through the gesture, eyes empty and void of expression. He slumped sideways and was no more. The noise Grantaire uttered was inhumane, chest heaving and falling precariously. “No no no no!” he scooped up his love’s corpse, pulling him into his lap, a sob catching in his throat as the entrails spilled down his front. “Oh god god god!” 

When the reserve of soldiers found themselves in the room it was a gorey sight to see indeed. Grantaire was rocking Enjolras’ corpse back and forth, he looked up at the soldiers over tear stained cheeks, barely regarding them before turning back to Enjolras. Shaky fingers combed reverently through the golden locks as he smoothed back his hair. “Do you permit it?” he sniffled. The question had not yet rang out when the bullet resounded.


End file.
